Here Is My Heart
by Honour Society
Summary: When two words meet. In rehab. Gossip Girl and The Clique. In one. MxE.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Gossip Girl, The Clique or any brands, people, etc. mentioned in this fic, only the plot and original characters.

**Author's Note: **Off-the-wall pairing alert. Set when Eric was in rehab and an AU way of how _her _summer could have gone. You don't have to have seen both the show and read the book series to read this. Although at least knowing one wouldn't hurt. Lol. Spoilers for episode sixteen (of _Gossip Girl_), All About My Brother. AU, which means alternate universe for all the people (or maybe just one person, I'm not sure) who've asked me what that means. It's AU because of their relationship and also some changed background on Massie's part. I tried my best. Hope you like!

Further explanation of their age: Massie is thirteen, having turned so in mid-July. She will be entering eighth grade in September. Eric is fourteen, going into ninth grade in September.

**HERE IS MY HEART**

-A _Gossip Girl_/_The Clique_ crossover by: Honour Society-

**Eric**

Another day wasted. Walls painted bright shades of egg yoke yellow and sea-foam blue stared down at me, judging, always judging. I crossed my eyes and snatched my iPod version 7.6 or whatever. The newest, most expensive, top-of-the-line kind Lily could find. It was loaded almost to the brim, full of depressing songs.

I turned the volume up louder on the lead singer's tormented screams, pounding along in time with the drums and guitar. Sigh.

I'd been here for seventeen days only and already I wished I had never stuck Lily's recently-sharpened kitchen knife to my wrist. Or maybe I just wished for the comforts of the Palace Hotel or the high-rise home of her latest husband. What was she at? Number three? Four, maybe?

I lost track after she and Dad split up. How many years ago was that now? I don't even remember; I was so young. Serena was too. She might have been in the second grade. All I remember about that time is that she was seriously into skipping. Especially double-dutch. She'd grab Nate's arm and drag him into the hurricane of rope, pulling up on his hands when the rope came around. "Jump, Nate, jump!" He tried to, for her sake, but could never make it.

I also remember Blair sulking beside me. That was one of the only things we had in common. How often we were inexplicably forgotten about. Usually by Serena.

****

Massie

Ehmagawd. I can_not_, absolutely _can not _wrap my mind around why Daddy decided to send me here. To stay with "Aunt Eleanor" and "Cousin Blair." We're _nawt _even related! So what if I got booted out of horseback riding camp! That doesn't me I should be sentenced to the death row by way of the Ostroff Treatment Center.

And. This. Outfit.

I glanced down at the uniform I was required to wear to "volunteer" here. Volunteer my ass. Like I was given a _choice _to come here? No. "It'll be good for you, darling," Kendra had told me, like, a million years ago (really only one week ago when I came here for the remainder of the summer), as she overlooked Inez's scrubbing of the good china.

The uniform consisted of stretchy blue-green scrubs; the unisex, one-size-fits-all kind, unlike the fashionable scrubs Addison wore on _Grey's Anatomy_. Where are the cute, well-fitting, salmon-coloured ones? The elastic waistband left ugly red marks around my hips, but I'd pulled them low enough to show a hint of back cleavage. The top was even worse. A low V-neck pulled across my not-quite-as-ample-as-it-should-be chest way too tightly and bunched in all the wrong places. Even the dainty, summer-weight cotton Marc Jacobs blouse I had on underneath helped.

Ugh.

If there was one good thing about this little impromptu trip to the city (and I'm totally nawt saying there is), then it would be Cousin Blair's fashion sense. I just might have to get the name of the person who styles her hair. Apparently, curls are the new bangs. Also, she has enough headbands to keep the hair out of all the faces of every. Single. Person. In the American army.

That's not even hyperbole.

****

Eric

When is Elsa coming? Elsa-the-nurse-Elsa, not my secret love child or lover or something. Not that I _have _a secret love child. I kinda-sorta have a secret lover though. But we haven't even kissed. Or touched. Or, well, "loved." "Made love"? I don't know. That's such a soap opera, _All My Children _term. Sex, I mean.

Not that I like _All My Children_. I totally don't. But daytime television gets steadily more interesting when you have absolutely nothing to do.

But back to that almost secret maybe-lovers thing. See, there's this guy. Asher. And, I don't know, he seems like he doesn't run in the circles of "Manhattan's elite," as that infamous Gossip Girl everyone cares about, is always saying. If this is how the elite act, I wonder what the non-elite are doing. Probably the same things as us, just on a less-grand scale.

And when he first smiled at me during group therapy and talked about why he was here (a near drug overdose at some too-cool-to-have-a-name club on the Upper West Side), pardon the cliché, but I felt my heart melt.

I was gay. And I was sure of it. Until she showed up and ruined everything with her startlingly amber eyes.

**Massie**

"Eric van der Woodsen?" I deadpanned as I had done for all the other patients, without even glancing up from my clipboard, listing various emergency contacts, the suicide hotline, (Eric had a pink cow sticker beside his name meaning he was one of the suicidal ones) and several appropriate responses for whatever he may reply. When he didn't answer however, my eyes moved upwards.

He was staring. At me.

I wondered what Mr. Handy-Dandy Clipboard would suggest now.

**Eric **

"Y— You're not Elsa." As soon as the words slipped out, I regretted them. When staring down an insanely pretty girl (despite the fact that I wasn't sure whether I swung that way or not), you were supposed to compliment her or make small talk.

This, I thought, is why I don't have many friends.

"No. I guess I'm _nawt_" came her response. She had some kind of weird lilt to her words. It was evident in the way she drew out "nawwwt" instead of simply saying "not." I'll admit it, I was curious about her.

"You, uh, have weird eyes. They're, um, yellow-ish."

****

Massie

I raised a single, impeccably plucked eyebrow: an unnecessary gesture I didn't care to suppress.

"Thanks," I deadpanned, rolling my eyes to prove a point. Okay! Weirdo alert! I franticly flipped through Mr. Handy-Dandy Clipboard's pages, printed on neon printing paper, looking for the answer to his totally rude question. There was none.

_When in doubt, _I read from page one, _always comment on the whether, especially on how good it has been lately. Patients with suicidal tendencies do not need to me reminded of the dark, dreary sky or unstoppable rain. _

"Nice weather we're having." It was a statement, not an easy, gentle question like Mr. Clipboard suggested. But then again "gentle" had never been associated with the revered name of Massie Block.

"It's raining. Even us lowly patients are allowed to look out the window."

I saw him smirk a bit and instantly regretted trusting the stupid clipboard. It can't control me! I have free will! I disregarded Mr. Clipboard's instruction to direct the conversation back to how well his medication was working and tried something new.

Something, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have. Something Mr. Handy-Dandy Clipboard was screaming out in bold, double-underlined, 72-point that it was AGAINST THE RULES OF ELSA!

"Why'd you try to kill yourself?"

****

Eric

A simple enough question. An extremely complicated answer.

"Uh…"

I saw the corners of her lips pull upwards into a sly grin. "Oh? You're speechless, huh?"

"It's just… You know. No one's asked me that before." _Not even Asher_, I wanted to add but didn't. If I told her, I bet she'd get all giggly and say, "Oh. Duh. Sorry. You're gay! We should go shoe shopping and paint our nails and braid our hair!"

I'd pick Chinese water torture over _that_.

"Ah, I see. 'It's complicated,' right? I have time. I'm sure the party girl heroin-overdoser in the next room over can wait a while. She snuck a J. Crew flask in anyhow, so a few sips will knock her right out."

So she's not one of Elsa's well-groomed handmaidens. Weird. I wondered if I knew about Chelsea's (aforementioned 'party girl') overdose, would I have told on her?

If it endangered her, yes. Or no… Maybe. Oh, I have no clue, honestly!

****

Massie

He gave me the silent treatment for a solid five minutes before sighing heavily. I noticed that some bouquets of all the most expensive flowers — orchids mainly — had been placed delicately around the room. They were wilting despite the honourable attempts of some fake Ming vases filled with chilled glacial water.

I moved from my awkward position by the door and pulled up a spare chair, sitting on it backwards.

His eyes met mine and for a split second I wondered if he would comment on my eyes again. I wasn't sure I wanted to be insulted again, but I found myself disappointed when he didn't say anything. Eric offered his hand. We shook and I used the tightest grip possible. Could he take it?

His grip, albeit much lighter, held mine. I blinked first, looking down at the horrible plastic shoe covers that hid my cute flats from view. Elsa made me don the matching green covers so that if any patient happened to throw up upon my feet (which, apparently, happened frequently around these parts), I wouldn't have to swipe my Am Ex to buy a replacement pair.

Good thing too. Daddy's was just about ready to destroy my trust fund if I even so much as _stepped _inside a mall or boutique.

I noticed how small and hesitant his voice was when he cleared his throat and said, "So. What's your name?"

****

Eric

"Massie," she said, flashing a blinding smile my way, "Massie Block."

Very nouveau riche. I wondered where she was from. Not New York. I could see the low-cut blouse she was wearing and the hem of high-waisted pants which were already out of fashion here. (Or at least I gathered from Lily's last visit. She seemed to think it fun to flip through _Vogue_, pointing out which styles were 'so out' and which celebrities were bitches in reality.)

"Eric van der Woodsen," I admitted, hating how Ivy League-bound it sounded. At least Massie Block had some personality to it. But then again, our parents hand-picked these names for us before we were born. They have nothing to with our character.

"If you won't tell me why you're here, will you at least tell me how you were before? All of this, I mean?" Massie was a no-holds-bar type of girl. I liked that about her.

With a sharp intake of breath, I gave her the basic facts. Serena. Lily. School. Divorce. She was surprisingly silent throughout the whole thing and I knew that she was one of Us. One of the "chosen ones." Gossip Girl fodder. Or the equivalent of Gossip Girl in her hometown.

****

Massie

I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was how similar our lives seemed when laid out like that. Replace a Lily with a Kendra, add a couple divorces and a remarriage to Mr. Henry Harrington and pow. Exact. Same. Life. It was also quite the coincidence that both of our fathers' names were William.

I don't know how to explain the next part, really. All the stars aligned, I guess. Or some other Shakespearian crap like that.

Forgetting that this was not my first (it was horrible Todd Lyons) or even my second (Derrington. Ew. I know. My current stepbrother, though he totally wasn't back that) kiss, I leaned in. Pow. Magic.

Roll the curtains.

Cue the credits.

Leave the theatre.

****

Eric

Kissing. It's weird really. Asher and I hadn't yet. Would we ever? He seemed so jerky. Like, one wrong move, one pull on his strings, and he'd collapse. With Massie her strings were wound so tightly, so perfectly, I imagined she'd kissed and been kissed one hundred times.

I pointedly ignored the fact that this was my first kiss. With a girl. And I wasn't repulsed. Or even put off. It felt nice. Okay, okay. Better than nice. But what about Asher?

Oh, God. Should I pull away and tell her I'm gay? Would that offend her?

The answer resounded in my head: _YES!!_

I kept my lips closed. So to speak.


End file.
